


Safehouse

by weekend_conspiracy_theorist



Series: Leather Jackets and Lab Coats [6]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: F/F, Moving In Together, poor communication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-08 01:32:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5478290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weekend_conspiracy_theorist/pseuds/weekend_conspiracy_theorist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lisa shows up at Len's apartment, needing a place to hide for a while. It's not from the cops, and it's not from a fight.</p><p>(Written for Flarrow Femslash Week: Day Seven.)</p><p>(Stands alone.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safehouse

“I need a safehouse for the next week. At least.”

Len stares at her for a long moment- his eyes narrow and she expects him to call her on her bullshit then and there, since he knows she hasn’t worked a job in the last month (yay for honeymoon periods and distracting amounts of sex with her new girlfriend)- but then he steps aside. She heaves a sigh of relief, fingers relaxing slightly from their white-knuckled grip on the strap of her duffle bag, and presses past him into the apartment.

“Thank you, Lenny,” she murmurs. The apartment looks the same as every apartment he’s ever owned—crowded with books and blueprints, thick curtains over the windows but lamps on most available surfaces. Lisa drops her bag on the floor next to the couch, stalks into the kitchen because mini marshmallows make everything better, even when it’s ninety degrees outside and she’s not interested in hot chocolate to go along with them.

“I’m at least eighty percent certain Flash and his friends know this address, even if the cops officially don’t,” Len tells her as she rifles through his pantry. “Depending on why you’re running, you may be able to stay here a day or two before they start looking, and then you’ll have to move.”

He’s fishing, and rather obviously, too. Lisa ignores him, mutters “Aha!” as she finally finds the bag of pure, fluffy white sugar. She tears it open, humming under her breath, and kicks the door closed as she turns back to face him. Len’s got his arms crossed over his chest, an expectant eyebrow raised.

“Marshmallow?” Lisa holds out the bag, face stubbornly set. She’s not interested in talking; if Len tries to press, she’s leaving.

Luckily, Len is nothing if not versed in the ways of Lisa Snart. He sighs, plucks a marshmallow out of the bag, and tells her, “Guest bedroom’s on the left. Mick and Baez are coming over later tonight for planning, and you’re welcome to join us if you wish.”

Lisa darts in, presses a quick kiss to his cheek. “You’re the best, Lenny.”

***

Shawna pops into existence at Lisa’s right elbow. Alarms blare immediately, and Lisa- twisted in half as she maneuvers her way through the laser grid- growls in annoyance. “Are you kidding me, Peek-a-Boo?” she demands, straightening, fury in her eyes.

“Flash is here. No time for delicacy.” Shawna holds out the gold gun, shakes it slightly when Lisa doesn’t immediately take it. “You’re going to want this if he comes to find you, Glider.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right.” Lisa accepts the gun, and Shawna claps her on the shoulder, not seeming to notice Lisa’s distracted glance back down the hallway, away from the room she’s been working towards.

“I’ve got to go help Heatwave move his bounty,” Shawna tells her. “Holler when you’re ready for me.” She disappears with a soft woosh of air rushing in to fill the space she’s vacated, and Lisa stares blankly at the far wall, her stomach flopping nervously.

There’s a distant crash, barely audible over the still wailing alarm, and Lisa snaps back into the present. “Fuck.” She sprints the last distance and breaks the keypad with her elbow, causing a short in the door- thank God for questionable engineering- and making it rise about two feet before it stalls. She drops to her stomach, preparing to roll through, and then her hair is blown into her face as the Flash skids to a stop behind her.

She freezes. After a moment, she turns her head until she’s staring at his red-clad feet and calves.

Barry shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and Lisa slowly raises her gaze. He smiles awkwardly, clears his throat—she can’t hear it, but she can see his Adam’s apple bob. “COULD YOU, AH, STAND UP?” he shouts. “I’M, UM. NOT HERE TO ARREST YOU? I’VE JUST GOT A MESSAGE FROM A CONCERNED PARTY.”

“MAYBE I’M COMFORTABLE DOWN HERE?” Lisa tries.

“PLEASE STAND UP,” Barry begs, leaning halfway over and holding out a hand. “IF YOU ROLL UNDER THAT DOOR AND I HAVE TO FOLLOW YOU, IT’S GOING TO BE REALLY HARD TO EXPLAIN WHEN THE COPS SHOW UP.”

Lisa sighs, pushing up to her knees, and lets Barry pull her the rest of the way to her feet. “IS SHE MAD AT ME?”

“I CAN’T TELL. SHE WON’T EXPLAIN WHAT HAPPENED.” Barry lifts his hands, then pauses. “YOU GUYS RIGGED THE CAMERAS, RIGHT?” Lisa nods, and he blows out a breath as he pushes the cowl back. He has such an extraordinarily earnest face that Lisa hates him just a little bit for it, on principle. She folds her arms over her chest, scowls, and Barry points a finger at her, eyebrows rising. “DON’T GET DEFENSIVE ON ME, SNART; I RAN FOUR MILES TO GIVE YOU A MESSAGE FROM YOUR GIRLFRIEND, AND I’M NOT EVEN GOING TO ARREST YOU AND YOUR CRIMINAL COHORTS WHILE I’M AT IT.”

“Only because she made you promise,” Lisa mutters. She blows out a breath, shakes her head slightly to knock out any last petulance. “LOOK, JUST GET ON WITH IT, WOULD YOU?”

“YEAH, ALRIGHT, UM…”  Barry fumbles to remove a few of the snaps on his suit, pulls a piece of paper out of it and clears his throat again as he begins to read. “‘LISA, YOU ARE THE MOST INFURIATING HUMAN BEING I HAVE EVER MET, BUT THAT DOESN’T MEAN I WANT YOU TO DISAPPEAR OUT OF MY LIFE. EVEN IF YOU’RE NOT WILLING TO COME HOME YET, PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, ANSWER YOUR PHONE THE NEXT TIME I CALL YOU. BETTER YET, CALL ME YOURSELF. LOVE, CAITLIN.’” He lowers the piece of paper, wrinkles his nose. “I MAY HAVE PARAPHRASED THE FIRST PART. SHE USED SOME PRETTY STRONG LANGUAGE.”

Lisa snatches the paper out of his hand, raises an eyebrow as she skims the note written in Cait’s small, cramped, messy handwriting. “THIS IS SOME CREATIVE STUFF. I’M QUITE IM—”

Shawna pops into existence at her left elbow. “COPS ARE HERE. ALSO, HEATWAVE’S PISSED AT YOU.” She glances at Barry, smirks. “HEY, SAILOR. NICE COWL HAIR,” she taunts, and then grabs Lisa’s arm and they teleport away.

***

Len throws open the door to Lisa’s room (AKA his guest bedroom), and flicks on the lights. Lisa wants to murder him a little, but she settles for curling further into a ball and tugging the blanket over her head. “Go away, Lenny. I’m _wallowing_.”

“I found you a proper safehouse,” he drawls, leaning against the doorframe.

Lisa pokes her head out from under the blankets- she can feel her hair forming a messy, monstrous halo around her face, but Lenny’s seen her worse- and narrows her eyes. “Is this a trick?”

“You’ve eaten all of my marshmallows and drank all of my booze. It’s time for you to move on.” Len straightens. “You’ve got ten minutes to repack your things and get dressed; anything you leave behind is fair game for Mick.” He disappears out of the doorway, leaving it wide open.

“You’re the worst!” she shouts after him. Well, she did know she couldn’t stay here forever. She sighs, kicking the blankets away, and pulls Caitlin’s note out from underneath the pillow as she sits up. She stares at it for a moment, then crumples it in her palm with a sharp exhalation through her nose.

Len’s right, it’s time to stop wallowing. A safehouse means she can plan a job in piece, engage in a little recreational violence and get her head back on straight before she attempts to contact Caitlin and see where they stand. “Where’s the safehouse?” she calls, wandering into the bathroom to grab a brush (and the pair of jeans left crumpled on the floor).

“Other side of town,” Len calls back. She hears him rifling through the fridge.

“Will I be squatting or…?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

“Lot of things. We’ll figure it out when we get there.”

Lisa pulls on a t-shirt and throws the last of her things into a bag, mind racing. “This sounds pretty suspicious, Lenny. This safehouse isn’t actually a jail cell, is it?”

“It’s a nice, two bedroom apartment on the other side of town, and it allows cats so you won’t have to keep sneaking back into your place to feed the trio of obnoxious fuzzballs.”

“I’m suspicious,” Lisa reiterates, slinging her duffle over her shoulder as she emerges from the room. “But I like the sound of 'pets welcome;’ the boys are getting restless.” Len’s slathering mustard on a piece of bread in the kitchen—making sandwiches, based on the lunchmeat and cheese sitting on the counter along with three more pieces of bread.

“I like mayonnaise,” she calls. He holds up one of the pieces, showing the mayonnaise already slathered across it. Lisa grins. “Well, at least I won’t die hungry when this suspicious safehouse turns out to belong to the mob.”

***

The building is nice. Not extraordinarily expensive, but not on the cheap side either. Lisa’s suspicion deepens—this is not Len’s normal kind of safehouse. He likes empty warehouses and apartments on the nastier side of town, the kinds of places where no one questions an obviously fake name on a lease and mysterious comings and goings throughout the night. This is more like… well. It’s only a few blocks over from Lisa’s _normal_ apartment.

“You aren’t actually on the run, Sis,” he tells her, rolling his eyes, when he notices her glaring a hole into the side of his head. “You had a fight with your girlfriend.”

“Not a fight,” Lisa mutters.

“Sorry?” Len raises an eyebrow.

Lisa shakes her head, opening the door and sliding out of the cab. “Never mind. Lead the way.”

Len takes her to apartment 306 and opens the door without even having to unlock. “Go ahead,” he tells her, motioning—and when she steps in, he closes the door behind her without following. The place is already furnished, neat in a way that means no one’s living in it but scattered with nick knacks that say someone will be, and probably soon.

Lisa recognizes most of the nick knacks; they’re Caitlin’s.

“You, um.” Cait clears her throat, dragging Lisa’s attention away from the framed picture of the two of them sitting on the hall table. “You asked me to move in with you, and then you kind of freaked out and ran away before I could say 'yes.’”

Lisa unfolds her fingers, lets her duffle bag settle onto the floor with a soft thump.

“I figured it would be a little too creepy if I moved all of your stuff in here, too, especially if you didn’t mean to ask me and don’t actually want to do this, which is totally possible given that you kind of blurted it and then you disappeared for almost a week. I did purposefully leave space when I was unpacking, though.” Caitlin wrings her hands, smiles nervously as Lisa continues to stand silently and stare at her. “This is over the top, isn’t it? I just thought it’d be the easiest, fastest way to let you know that I wasn’t upset that you asked. And that I’m interested. And that I’m way more serious about us than you seem to think. And—”

“Please stop.” Caitlin’s mouth snaps shut immediately, and Lisa sucks in a breath, trying to sort out the emotions tumbling through her. She’s a little pissed at Len (he knows that she loves giant romantic gestures, sure, but he also knows that she _hates_ surprises) and she’s a little scared (Caitlin’s going to come to her senses, sooner or later, and either realize that a month is way too soon to be thinking about moving in together or that she’s not actually willing to be involved with a criminal) and a little helplessly in love (Caitlin looks beautiful, hair glinting in the light streaming in through the big windows, impeccably fashionable as ever).

Lisa runs a hand down her face. “I’m sorry I ran out.”

“We definitely have to work on our communication if we want this to work.” Caitlin gives another tentative smile—and Lisa’s missed her, hasn’t she? That’s the name of that other emotion, the one that wants to leap the couch that was _Caitlin’s_ and now may be _theirs_ so that she can grab the scientist and tug her into a kiss.

She settles for walking slowly forward, and Caitlin moves too, walks around the couch until they both come to a gentle stop a few feet away from each other. “Sure about this, Caity? I’m not the best roommate; ask Len to tell you about the time that I—”

“I’m sure,” Cait tells her firmly, cutting through Lisa’s nerves, and reaches out to squeeze her hand. “I even owe Barry three pizzas for helping me set this place up as fast as possible.”

“You’re telling me you had Scarlet do all of this at the speed of sound rather than unpack on your own? That makes this gesture far less—”

“Lisa.”

“Fine, whatever, I still love the gesture, even if you didn’t put as much effort into it as you should have.” Lisa closes the distance between them, pressing her lips firmly to Cait’s.

“And you love me,” Cait murmurs, reaching up to drape her arms around Lisa’s neck.

“And I love you,” Lisa confirms, catching Caitlin when she hops up and wraps her legs around Lisa’s waist. “We have a bed in that bedroom yet, or were you wanting mine instead?”

“Yours is just so much bigger,” Cait sighs, tilting her head to the side as Lisa presses kisses along her jaw.

Lisa hums. “Couch’ll have to do, then.”


End file.
